The Black Lion
by Kalendeer
Summary: "I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come." When he said the words, Tywin Lannister believed he was free of the South for good. But life in Westeros is unfair, and even the greatest men hardly get what they want. AU.
1. Prologue

Hi ! This was supposed to be a very short story for a personnal challenge, but I guess it's going to be a bit longer (though I guess it's going to be shorter than 10 000 words). The challenge was to write seven original deaths for Tywin Lannister; here is the first one, The Black Lion, in which Tywin joined the Night's Watch after being defeated under the walls of Castamere.

For those who followed Tywin's ward, I WILL finish the fic. I have been awefully occupied by my studies and still am, but I'm determined to finish it, especially since I've sorted a lot of personnal issues. I hope to deliver the end of the first arc for the beginning of the year.

A final note regarding Tywin Lannister as a character: I will not use datas from A World of Ice and Fire (since the book wasn't written by GRR Martin) and do not use datas that are not in the novels unless I like them. It's not that I don't like them, it's just that those datas tend to show up after I fill the gap (ex: Tywin's mother, who basically started to exist one month after I spent hours searching for her; well too bad, I'm not going to change everything for datas showing up from gods know where). Since the diverging point of the Black Lion is quite far away, it won't be much of an issue here, but it may be for further fics.

That being said, I wish you a pleasant read. As usual feel free to point out mistakes, review if you want, don't if you don't, and a happy Xmas to all!

EDIT : So apparently FFnet ate my horizontal lines. Well well.

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><p>Tywin Lannister was eighteen years old when he joined the Night's Watch, but he felt old, older than the Wall, and colder too.<p>

_My father is dead. My brothers are dead. _I _should be dead._

But he wasn't. He had failed Tygett first. The boy had wanted to squire for his elder, to be there when Tywin would bring the Tarbecks and Reynes down. But the battle had been lost, despite the unyielding trust gleaming in the boy's eyes; he, the golden son, the hope of his house, the ultimately disappointing Tywin Lannister had seen Tygett bleed to death from a severed arm.

They said his father had cried, cried so hard when he heard his twelve years old boy. The old toothless lion had wanted to surrender, his castle for his son, stupid, idiotic Tywin who was rotting in a cell, only Kevan hadn't let him. Not yet a knight, not even fifteen, the boy had foolishly led what men remained to their death under the walls of the Rock. The Lord of Castamere had laughed when he told Tywin: _He was fighting for you. This is what you did to them_. The sound echoed in Tywin's nightmares years after his defeat. He had fought to stop these people from cackling at his family, but still they laughed, and after some time in his cell, Tywin finally understood the truth: he couldn't do anything. His had been a lost battle from the start. His family –he – would forever be the laughing stock of Westeros.

They said his father hadn't cried for Kevan. No; his heart failed him, the doors were opened, the Rock despoiled for the first time in a thousand years.

And now here he was, standing in Castle Black, shivering in the cold. It felt good. Perhaps Tywin could freeze his shame in ice and snow. Perhaps the North could freeze the memory of himself sinking to his knees in front of Lord Roger Reyne, or how relieved he had been to be given a choice: to take the black or to be slaughtered with whatever remained of his family.

Gerion sniffed. The boy was probably the youngest man to swear his way into the Night's Watch since Aegon's conquest. Tywin squeezed his shoulder softly, accepting his brother's weakness: he was responsible for Gerion's endless sobs, and there was no need to be strong anymore. He had gone as far as to hold him in strong embraces when the boy woke up from some bad dream or another, when the dark allowed them to do so in peace. Never by day, never: they would laugh, those who walked North with them, and Tywin couldn't bear the sound.

The Lannisters were finished.

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><p>Tywin Lannister was fifty-six when he met King Rhaegar for the first time, in the great hall of Winterfell.<p>

The feast was bound to be a strained affair. Ned Stark had bent the knee after the Rebellion some fifteen years ago, yet the wounds were still fresh. Tywin was inclined to sympathize with Stark rather than with the silver-haired king: Rhaegar owned his victory to the Lord of Castamere, and while loyalty to the king was a given, Rhaegar himself had caused the rebellion by running away with Lyanna Stark. What kind of crown prince was a man who destroyed the peace for the sake of a pair of…

"Why have I been summoned?" Tywin whispered to Lord Stark as they settled at the high table. As the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he would sit left of Ned Stark, a great honor considering the sheer number of noblemen Rhaegar had brought north. Thinking of Stark's beloved sister breasts when he was sitting by him felt gross, even if Stark couldn't read his thoughts.

_You've feasted with too many wildlings, Tywin. You're dining south of the Wall today, and you'll be entertaining rotting flowers, not half-beasts_.

Sometimes he even forgot he had been one of those flowers. Once. A very long time ago.

"The King never paid interest to us. If it wasn't for Winterfell, my men would number less than the Queen's chambermaids."

Ned Stark gave him a crisp smile. They weren't friend, but they shared many things. Stark disdained the South, didn't think much of the king, believed the threats behind the Wall were real and liked to do the dirty work himself.

"The King didn't say. Curiosity, perhaps."

_I don't want his curiosity. I need men, iron and timber._

Instead, Tywin offered clumsy condolences for the death of Jon Arryn. He wasn't good for this kind of niceties, never had been. Most people thought he was being a hypocrite and didn't care, which was true most of the time. He just couldn't fake.

"I know he was dear to you."

Ned Stark only nodded, as the King and Queen were announced.

The King was a handsome, sad looking man. His hair was a silver mane braided with black and red ribbons under a crown of gold and black diamonds, his eyes a striking purple. He was the very likeness of Prince Aerys, or least the older Aerys Tywin who sometimes haunted Tywin's dreams: Rhaegar's father had been half a boy when Tywin had seen him last. Even more striking was Rhaegar's queen. Lady Cersei Goldfyre was his half-sister, the daughter of Aerys and his favourite, Lady Joanna Lannister. Rhaegar resembled his father, but Cersei was Joanna made flesh.

Tywin swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. He had loved Joanna once, long before Aerys could grant the girl her copper crown, and this Cersei girl was… no. She and her husband, the both of them brought back memories of the boy he once was. _I shall take no wife. I shall have no children. She could never have been mine_. Thinking of the past, of the _South_ made him nervous. It felt like calling back the darkness of the cell, the…

_Stop. Keep your thoughts north of the Wall. You are the sword in the darkness, you do not fear the shadows._

Rhaegar sat at Ned Stark's right, taking the most honored seat at the high table. Empty talks followed, speeches so boring Tywin whished he was back at the Wall. It was harder for him to remember his youth when he was with his brothers, even with Gerion. Gerion had been six years old they left for Castle Black: he recalled absolutely nothing from his old life and never asked. Being there turned him back to a nervous, scared lad all over again. He couldn't allow it. Not after all he had done to prove himself he was still able to function.

"Lord Commander," Rhaegar finally addressed him, a good two hours after the beginning of the feast. "I heard you were a friend to my father."

"I was, your Grace," Tywin answered, polite but cold. He didn't want the King to ask about Aerys, or Rhaella, or anything that wasn't Night's Watch material. "But I left a long time ago. You weren't even born yet."

"He told me once he regretted your… departure. He had hoped to make you his Hand. A rare sign of friendship and trust."

_My departure? My defeat, you mean. And neither his friendship nor his trust changed anything in the end_.

"I would not know, your Grace."

Again, Tywin was polite but sour. Yet the King didn't catch the implicit message, unless he just choose to ignore it. Kings, after all, could ignore anything that wasn't as dire as an armed rebellion.

"My father's madness caused the rebellion that shook our beloved Seven Kingdom," Rhaegar started. Tywin drowned his frown in his wine, while Ned Stark's jaw clenched so hard Tywin was surprised he didn't break a tooth or two. Aerys had been mad, yes, but his son was hardly better. "Yet he was bright in his youth, and renowned for his wisdom. I have lost Jon Arryn, who was a most able Hand. I would have you in King's Landing to replace him, Lord Commander."

Silence. Tywin felt his bowel grow cold, colder even than the Wall.

_Please. Please do not make me go south again. I was a boy then. _

"Your Grace, it is a great honor, but…"

Rhaegar threw him a warning glance. Obviously, the King wasn't used to people refusing him, especially in front of a room that had suddenly turned silent. Tywin, however, didn't fear the King: he was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and the very idea of keeping him away from the Wall was ludicrous.

"I vowed to guard the Wall, and I shall not stop until my death."

"I respect your vow, but the Night's Watch obeys the King. I came North to make this proposal, and I intend to go South with a new Hand. You shall come to my solar tonight. We will talk, and I will tell you what I will expect of you."

The solar was Ned Stark's, and Rhaegar looked like a stranger behind the oak desk. Tywin wanted nothing more than to refuse him. He had sworn never to go south again when he had been driven away from home. The men of the Night's Watch were his brothers, his followers, ultimately his protectors, and there was nothing north of the Wall he feared like he feared the South, nothing the wildling could do to him that was worse than… _nothing_.

"Jon Arryn was murdered," Rhaegar told him gravely. "By whom I do not know. I need someone I can trust, someone who isn't involved at court."

"Then name Lord Stark, Your Grace. If there ever was a man who doesn't…"

Rhaegar cut him short.

"Stark was Robert's thing. He still hates me for what happened to his sister. Do you think I do not know what they say of me, here in the North? Do you think I don't remember what dreadful losses my foolishness caused?"

He shook his head. A King couldn't be weak, couldn't doubt, couldn't show guilt, just like Tywin himself hadn't allowed himself to be weak until all was these few seconds of unguarded guilt were only this: an instant, short and soon gone.

"I need someone new. If you are half the man you were forty years ago, you will be exactly what King's Landing need. I do not need you to stay long. Go South, clear my court of the snakes that linger here and I will allow you to go back to your beloved Wall. In the meantime… think. There is much you can do at court for the Watch. Go South with me, Tywin Lannister, Lord-Commander of the Watch, and I will give you everything you ask."

_But I am not that man, your Grace_, Tywin wanted to scream. _And the snakes of your court are what broke me. I'll be powerless against them_.

He didn't scream.

Kings never took no for an answer.


	2. Chapter 1

Special thanks for all those kind reviews! I intend to post a new version of the prologue during the week, since I found many mistakes that did not appear to me when I proof read the text the first time.

This time, we switch to Ned Stark's POV. I hope this new chapter will be fun to read!

**Chapter 2: The Grey Wolf**

"I feared he would ask for you," Catelyn said. She was naked under the rich furs of their bed, but the pleasant warmth of the room kept her white skin free from goose bumps.

Sometimes, Eddard Stark wondered what he had done to deserve her.

"There is no lost love between Rhaegar and I. I'd be surprised if he came here only to ask Tywin Lannister to become hand of the king."

He hoped Rhaegar wasn't going to ask for one of his girls. The man had four boys; the oldest, Aegon, was already betrothed to Margaery Tyrell and his puisne, Jon, a Stark through Lyanna's blood. He could still order Sansa or Arya for one of his youngest. Ned hoped it would never come to this.

"A strange choice, and the Lord-Commander didn't look pleased."

Eddard crawled back in bed with her. She sighed softly. "I really don't think Lord Lannister will be of any help. The Castamere won't take his return lightly, and ser Rynald his already master of the coins. Lord Llewyn will intervene as well. In six moon he will be back."

"I hope not. He is made of harder wood than any of them, my love. One should not believe half of what the songs claim, but if one halve of the Lai of Dark Sister is true, I trust Lord Lannister can defend himself."

Catelyn chuckled. The sound came from the belly, deep down the throat, and it made her so beautiful Ned though of kissing her.

"I don't believe any part of the Lai his true. Gerion Lannister probably wrote the poem to recruit young, foolish men, and made his brother the hero of the story while he was at it."

"It doesn't explain the sword," Ned had had his own doubts, especially when Benjen had decided to join the Night's Watch. But Benjen wasn't a fool, and his brother was a staunch supporter of his Lord-Commander. "Lannister did come back with the sword."

"True." She kissed his lips. "Enough with the Night's Watch."

He couldn't agree more.

He met the Lord Commander the next morning, and it seemed like Ned Stark had at least one thing in common with the older man: both of them liked to polish their sword under the red leaves of an heart-tree; and by the look on Lannister's face, both liked to retreat here when their needed to think.

"Bad night, my lord?" Stark asked. The man looked tired.

"Sleepless, as is often the case when I am faced with a problem in which no solution satisfies me." Tywin's hand halted his seemingly endless to and fro movements. "King Rhaegar is wrong to say he can order me to come south. As the Commander of the Watch, I receive no orders from him, and cannot agree, lest I create a dangerous precedent. Yet the Watch is now the mere shell of the army it once was. We lack the men, money, and if the next winter lasts as long as this summer, and if what my wildling allies tell me is true, we may not hold the Wall when Winter comes."

Ned sat on a huge root. He unsheathed Ice and, for a moment, allowed himself to gaze at Dark Sister.

The sword was valyrian, no one could doubt it; yet it was unlike Ice in every other aspects. Ice was a greatsword, as tall as Ned was, while Dark Sister was rather small considering Tywin's impressive height, with a beautiful black hilt encrusted with rubies. The story said she was a woman's blade, forged for the hands of the Lady Visenya rather than for a tall man. Ned had no troubles believing it.

"You will have troubles keeping your oaths of neutrality at court. Some would even say you will betray them the moment you accept to serve as the King's Hand."

"Some would say the voyage would be worth the dishonor, if I can send a thousand good men north before the winter." Pale, green eyes went from sword to face. Ned had never paid attention to those eyes, but now that he did, they unsettled him. "You will tell me the North will help, but the North alone cannot sustain us. Once the Watch commanded nineteen castles and ten thousand soldiers. I'm not even counting the peasants who labored in the Gift. Can the North alone help me man these castles?" He shook his head. "I need to convince the King and his great lords to grant us permanent rights. Not lands, we have those. We need money and men. I have thought of taking in young sons and knights, without the vows."

Ned gave a start. No men had ever served for long on the Wall, not without swearing the oath.

"You mean to change a millennium of tradition," he said, aghast.

"Slightly," Lannister sadly agreed. "All the leaders will still be sworn brothers, but we may get more vocations if second or third sons can spend a season or two at the Wall. Some may even be ready to fight for longer if they can come back to their families. I do agree, though, that it may not go smoothly with everyone and may cause troubles in the chain of command."

"You surprise me. Benjen always described you as a traditional man."

"I used to be. For some the oaths are hard to bear. For me they were the root of freedom and safety." A strained smile curved his mouth, but there was no happiness behind it. Ned remembered one thing said about the Lord Commander: he seldom smiled, and when he did, he expressed grief rather than joy. "The wildlings are afraid, Lord Stark. I've had many winters in the North, yet never did they strike me as afraid. All of them are men brave enough to follow a crow through the Frostfangs, all the way up to the Lands of Always Winter. I ranged and fought with them on my way to Dark Sister. If they say they are afraid and the Wall may not be enough_, I cannot help but believe them_."

"You have decided to accept."

"Not yet."

"But you did."

The pale green eyes went to Dark Sister's blade. Lannister seemed to lose himself in the rippled patterns of the dark metal. The silence stretched, so long it soon became comfortable. Ned didn't mind the calm, the stillness broken by the soft sound of cloth on steel and the wind in the leaves of the great trees.

"I guess I did," Lannister admitted.

Ned had been right: Rhaegar wasn't in Winterfell solely to recruit a new Hand.

"I want my heir to inherit a unified Realm. The feud between the North and the Crown should be mended." A smile warm as the sun, yet sad as rain grew on the King's face. Ned Stark didn't smile. He knew were the conversation was going and he disliked the prospect. "Your eldest daughter Sansa shall marry my son, Prince Joffrey. With their wedding King Aegon will have one brother and one sister with Stark blood, nephews aplenty, and we shall have peace."

_You already have peace, Your Grace. You have my sister's only son, and my honor as a Lord. Do not take my daughter_.

Could the Starks refuse the proposal? Joffrey was Rhaegar's third son, but still a prince. The child was badly behaved and spoiled by the Queen, but nor mad (yet) nor misshapen. As much as Ned disliked the prince, there was no way to decline such a direct demand. Especially since Rhaegar was right: a wedding might be the beginning of a much needed reconciliation.

_Aegon may be better than his father and grandfather. The Prince deserves his chance_.

"If I may ask, Your Grace… I am unaware of much of the arrangements of the South. Have your other children's betrothed been chosen already?"

"Prince Aegon is to marry Margaery Tyrell and Prince Jon is promised to the Princess Arianne of Dorne. Princesse Rhaenys will wed ser Edmure Tully, Princess Myrcella Lord Robert Arryn. Lord Stannis agreed a few months ago to a match between his daughter Shireen and my youngest, Prince Tommen, and ser Rynald Castamere has been engaged to my sister Daenerys since her birth." He smiled again, and again the joy didn't reach Rhaegar's eyes. "As you can see, your dear Sansa will not be alone to settle in King's Landing. She shall make many friends at court."

_Wolves don't fare well in the South_, Ned wanted to say_. I am sure my sister made many friends in this tower you locked her in_.

"I will not lie and pretend this proposal pleases me, Your Grace. My father and my brother were murdered in the very keep where you would have me send my daughter. My sister died when you pretended to defend her. As for my nephew, Prince Jon, he is as much your son as your hostage…"

"I _love_ my son, Lord Stark," Rhaegar warned him. Anger shone in his previously dead eyes; Ned was almost relieved to find some emotions in them.

"Yet Prince Jon did not come with you to Winterfell. You never allowed him to visit us. I hoped to meet him during the last tourney in Riverrun, but Jon was the only member of your family who stayed in King's Landing." Ned frowned. "We _did_ join the rebellion when your father burnt the Lord and Heir of the North, then ordered Robert and me to be killed, but _you_ took my sister. We share the blame of the _feud_."

"Should I understand you refuse the match?"

"No. Ultimately you are right. This bitterness is ours. We shouldn't let our children inherit our divisions." Still… "But I am not letting you go with Sansa. I don't trust you. Your Grace."

"Fine. I will command my son to be squired with you. He is already half a man and will have to go back South eventually, if he is to marry his bride, but I consent to let him live in Winterfell until his… let's say nineteenth namesday. Is it satisfying? You will have my son as a hostage. But be warned, should any harm befall him…"

"He is Lyanna's son. On my life, I will never…"

"You do not trust me, Lord Stark", Rhaegar reminded him. "It is only fair I am allowed to mistrust you as well, is it not?"

"He is Lyanna's son", Ned repeated.

"And you, you are Robert Baratheon's best friend. We can go a long way on this road."

"If Lyanna told you anything about me, you know I will never harm the Prince."

"And if she had had the time to tell you anything about me, you would know you daughter has nothing to fear from me."

They glared at each other. Eddard knew this fight was going nowhere; apparently, so did Rhaegar.

"You should accompany your daughter to King's Landing. She is still young and shouldn't leave her family and her home at the same time. You could bring your other daughter and your son Bran," he raised his hand to stop Ned's incoming protestation. "I do not ask for Arya and Bran as well. Take this as a… a favor, from the father of a lonely boy." He looked genially sad when he added: "Tommen is a kind boy, and not very much liked by Joffrey. His mother doesn't let other children approach him readily. He needs to make friends. Even if it's just for a few months."

"I will have to consult my own Lady wife, Your Grace. When it comes to our children, I fear her authority often supplants mine."

The Kind nodded in agreement.

"I understand. Please, do give her my best regards."


	3. Chapter 2

Happy new year!

First, some answer to the reviews I got for The Black Lion/The Lion of the North:

**Salamon2**: I answered in private, and the discussion that followed made me change my mind about AWOIF (I was planning not to buy the book). I'm not finished reading it though, and I think I will stick for now with the "it doesn't exist" policy. As I said before I unfortunatly don't have the time required to truly study the book. For the same reason, some mistakes are to be expected in the fanfic. (Same goes for **jedi-watchman1**!)

**Saint River** posted something about Rhaegar and his children, the North and the Rebellion. This chapter will answer some questions you may have, since it is a Rhaegar POV. I hope you will like it!

Next chapter will be a Tywin POV again.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: The silver dragon<strong>

Morning came, and King Rhaegar instantly wished it hadn't.

His whole body felt like lead, empty and… well, empty. There was no better word to define his state. The king closed his eyes in vain. He knew he wasn't tired and would probably not fall back to sleep. If he did Cersei would wake him up soon enough.

He should probably get out of bed before she decided to throw him out of the mattress.

His squire had laid out some clothes on a chair. Rhaegar dressed without even looking at them. Who cared how he dressed anyway? He was just going to will the hours away, watching the world run around him, yet without him. At least he had dealt with the important matters before his bout of languidness hit. He could live the rest to Queen Joanna… no, not her. Slowly, Rhaegar remembered his step-mother was in King's Landing. She was the Protector of the Realm, had been since Aerys had believed he could somehow buy her affection with a title that basically made her Hand of the King, and dealt with everything that required the King's attention while Rhaegar was away.

_Cersei will be overjoyed. She'll get to rule without her mother looking over her shoulder_.

Rhaegar felt like sighing. Could he, really, resent his wife for her thirst for power? Sometimes he wanted to be angry at her. It really wasn't his fault if he couldn't bring himself to love her, if there were some days when he couldn't even touch her because it was _all so tiring_. Sometimes he understood her. She merely sought to fill that terrible emptiness. Most of the times he felt nothing at all.

He ended up in the small, well-furnished room where he and his family took their breakfast. Tommen and Joffrey ate like young, healthy little lions, while Myrcella was slower and let's face it, far more elegant in handling her food. Ser Jaime sat on his sister's right hand, talking in an animated manner about this afternoon's hunt.

_That hunt. Gods, I'll never escape that wretched hunt_.

"You won't go. I told you, Jaime, I don't feel safe in this place. The Starks hate us. What if they decide to take us hostage while Rhaegar and his knights are away?"

Said Rhaegar coughed delicately. Cersei feigned surprise, but he knew better. Maybe he would tell her, one day, that he knew perfectly well why she wanted her brother to stay with her in Winterfell. _I'm a Targaryen, dear half-sister. I'm not blind_. He didn't know for how long they had been at it, nor if any of her children where his, and found he didn't care. His father had cared about too many things in his old age.

He sat on his wife's left. At least their brother Tyrion wasn't there to pester him like an annoying insect.

"Do as my Queen says, brother," he ordered. Easier to yield now than to have Cersei bother him about the Wolves and how they wanted to eat her children. _I'm the only one they want to eat, trust me_. "Though I don't think Eddard Stark will try anything. He is a straightforward man, if he wanted us dead, he would have moved already."

"Regarding straightforwardness," Cersei interrupted him, "why didn't you tell me about your plans regarding the Lord-Commander?"

_Because I suspect you of murdering poor Jon Arryn_, Rhaegar thought. He didn't plan on telling her. He wasn't disgusted of life to the point of committing suicide, but he knew he wouldn't have the strength to fight against her, not unless he decided to have her killed… and then, then Joanna would probably kill him. He loathed for his children to become orphans.

"I wasn't sure. I needed to meet him first." He made the tremendous effort of lifting his gaze from his porridge to his Queen's face. "Are you displeased? He's a Lannister of Casterly Rock, your own uncle. You have nothing to fear from him."

"I fear no one. I would have liked you to inform me before you asked him in front of the whole of Winterfell."

"This is no matter to be discussed in front of the children." Prince Joffrey, always his mother's supporter, was literally drinking from their fight. "Anyway, Tywin Lannister hasn't accepted yet. I'm waiting for his answer."

"Good. Because ser Rynald Reyne was infuriated. He says his father won't accept this nomination."

"Lord Llewyn is far more cautious than his son, and has his own mind. No one can predict how he will react."

"Ah. So you don't know how he will react."

"No, I don't, and I honestly don't care, Cersei," Rhaegar sighed. "I am the King and can choose whoever I want as Hand. I don't care what the Reynes have to say, and I don't care what you have to say. I took my decision. Go harass someone else if it makes you angry."

He instantly regretted his words. Those were cruel, bound to anger Cersei for days, but most and for all: Rhaegar hated to devalue his wife in front of his children. Every time he did so he was reminded of Elia and her face when he had crowned Lyanna Stark Queen of Love and Beauty, and deep down, he didn't hate Cersei. She was his queen and sister, the mother of his children (even if they were Jaime's, Rhaegar was the one they called father).

He couldn't tell her he was sorry now. He was the King, it was true, and Joffrey needed to at least believe the fiction that Rhaegar still ruled something. He wouldn't be able to tell her later as well. She wouldn't care, no, she would scream at him until he grew bored, and then she would harass him for that too.

Rhaegar left the table, all appetite gone. He still had at least an hour before he could get in the yard for the hunt.

"Where are you going?" Cersei asked. Still angry. She was always angry.

"To the sept," the King answered. "I will pray on what you said."

He wouldn't. He had stopped praying the day Lyanna Stark died, but no one bothered a praying man. He could just wait for time to pass, empty as a corpse, as minutes and then hours tickled by.

And then the hunt.

On the good side, the only Lannisters he had to deal with wore black. Gerion Lannister looked much like his nephew Jaime: fair, tall, blond and cocky, but content to watch over his Lord Commander like a dog ready to bite, as if he expected Ser Rynald Reyne to actually attack the poor man right in the middle of the host. Lord Tywin was more reserved, almost easy to forget when he rode near his nosy and flashy brother. He kept eying the men from the court. Rhaegar wondered if he, too, was searching for the Reynes, then decided he really couldn't be bothered my lions' quarrels right now.

On the bad side, Lord Tywin seemed the happiest man on Westeros compared to the Starks. But how could the Starks behave any differently? Their sky and lands were as drab as their flag's depressing colors. It was a wonder a flame such as Lyanna could have grown here, flanked by the rock Eddard Stark was and his sour brother Benjen. _Winter is coming_. Well, that it did, and it came from the northerners themselves.

"Do not be so tense, Ser Barristan," Rhaegar ordered the knight. "Nothing will happen. I'm not even planning to chase anything."

"It is not the preys I watch, Your Grace. Many would like you dead in this very assembly."

_Let them. I have an heir, and my skin is worth less than your honor_.

"I am not afraid. The Starks wouldn't allow it. Let us show some trust."

The hunt dragged on, and on, and on. Rhaegar endured. He couldn't even remember how he could have loved hunting in his youth. He felt cold, sore and bored, harassed by his stupid courtesans who kept coming like fleas on a corpse. Their leeching constricted his chest until he was nearing explosion.

He kicked his horse and ran.

He spurred the beast as fast as he could, as far as the wind seemed ready to carry him. The cold air whipped at his face and clothes, and his cloak made great cracking noises as it spread like wings for his back. Rhaegar felt the hard muscles of his horse between his tights, heard (and ignored) the cries of his knights, kicked his stallion as if Robert's ghost was pursuing him. He left the open steppe and dived hard into what the Starks called the Wolfswood.

The horse jumped, evaded trees and rock, and Rhaegar let him go wherever it wanted to go. He didn't care as long as he got the speed, as long as he ended up lost and alone. He was too tired for them, too sick of everything, but extreme sensations could still reach him in that state. At one point he laughed at the sky, head thrown back, and let go of the reins.

His horse stopped of his own accord. Blessed silence! At least Rhaegar could bath in the unaltered sounds of leaves, of his horse's breath… and the footsteps of another horse behind his back.

He started so hard his horse neighed. Rhaegar reined him hard. He was one of the best riders he knew. How could anyone have followed him on such a mad run?

On the crest of the small valley the King was hiding in stood the Lord-Commander.

"Lord Tywin," Rhaegar acknowledged his presence. "You followed me."

"As did you Kingsguard, your Grace."

"Yet I see none of them."

"I am a Ranger," Tywin answered, simple as that. But yes, it was as simple as that.

"This… must be child play to you, isn't it? Child play compared to what lay behind the Wall."

"I had to ride hard to keep up with you, Your Grace," the Lord Commander said, his tone too flat for Rhaegar to guess if he was flattering him or telling the truth. "But it is true I had worse. The Haunted Forest is often thicker than these woods."

"I wished to be left alone."

"I know."

"Then why are you here?"

"You are the King. You shouldn't be left without protection. You do not have to acknowledge my presence."

Rhaegar sighed. The man was here now, he couldn't just ignore him. The king dismounted and motioned the Lord Commander to do the same.

"Are you any good with that bow?" Said King pointed out the great, white bow slung over Lannister's shoulder.

"Frankly I was average at best... and I fear my sight is not what it used to be." The man got the long, bone-like piece of wood from his shoulder. "It is a gift from a wildling… priest," he said, as if he had been searching for the right word.

"A priest?"

"No. Not really. The word for priest is _proestr_. He is a _hyggjier_. If the Citadel has a word for them, I don't know what it is."

For the first time in days, Rhaegar felt… alive. Words sprung in his head as they did in his youth, long ago, when he was merely a prince and spent days deciphering poetry in high valyrian. He knew the Lai of Dark Sister by heart. The song was the newest epic tale, the first since the last Blackfyre Rebellion: the story of a young black brother, through the highest mountains, haunted forests and frozen plains.

Rhaegar had been certain it was bullshit. He had still believed when they said the Lord Commander yielded Dark Sister. For all he knew, young Tywin had found it in some cave twenty miles away from the Wall. He was, honestly, mildly surprised that Lannister knew a sorcerer like the one described in the Lai.

"Can I?" The Lord-Commander nodded and handed him the bow. It felt strange, almost like touching bones, but the weapon bent perfectly when Rhaegar pulled the string. The bow stave was carved with what looked like barbarians markings, but further inspections revealed the fineness of work of a master craftsman. A mostly fantasy-based lion crouched alongside birds, probably crows, while the forbidding faces, the like of those carved on heart trees, added a morbid touch to the bow. "It was made for you."

"As I told you, I was never worthy of this gift. Weirwood bows are supposed to be made for skilled bowmen. It is, however, a deadly insult to refuse a gift made by a _hyggjier_."

"The _hyggjier_ who gave you this bow, is he Dagardr Tree-Rider? The greenseer in the Lai of Dark Sister? I was persuaded he was… well, fictional."

"Fictional," the Lord-Commander repeated flatly. "Would Your Grace be so kind as to explain this assertion?"

"Well, in the first place he looks like a very convenient literary device. He is both the quest giver and the old mage who gives all the clues when it is evident the hero cannot find the answer by himself. Then, all maesters agree it is highly unlikely that a wildling with this kind of powers would guide a sworn brother of the Night's Watch toward a valyrian sword. At last, the story contains many elements of pure fantasy, and absolutely nothing differentiates the character of Dagardr from, let's say, the white walkers you supposedly encountered in the Lands of Always Winter.

I understand very well that the Night's Watch is in dire need of new recruits. I don't blame your brother Gerion for the Lai. It's a well composed song and probably not any falser than all the prophecies and song that came before. I used to believe in them when I was young. Twenty years ago I would have believed every single verse. But honestly, it's all pretty lies, isn't it?"

The Lord-Commander paled, but Rhaegar couldn't say if it was from furor, fear, or any other emotion strong enough to elicit such a reaction. The bow was half torn from his hand.

"You know nothing," he hissed between clenched teeth. Suddenly, Rhaegar was reminded of Lord Stannis of Storm's End, though the King had never been able to tell if Baratheon was always on the verge of breaking his jaws because he hated his Targaryen cousin or if it was a constant trait of his personality.

"Then tell me. I am a curious man."

Tywin frowned.

"I am not sure if it will be of any use."

"I am the king. I'm not used to be refused."

Rhaegar meant the witticism as a joke, but the Lord Commander apparently lacked the humor to understand the words as such. His answer was cold, the words slowed by barely suppressed anger.

"And the Night's Watch doesn't obey the king. It is true that I need your help, but on my honor I have to speak the truth: you do not dismiss Dagardr because he is a _useful plot device_. You dismiss him because he is a _wildling_ and no one, south of the Gift, especially south of the Neck, can imagine a wildling as the hero of the story. You are right when you say the Lai is a work of propaganda and that most of the story is false, but all your other assumptions are false. The true Song of the Black Sword is told in the Old Tongue. It is sung with drums by warriors and seers alike. It's a song of three hundred verses whose beauty is far above the Lai. It tells the story of a green seer who had the strength to gather men from clans whose enmity was legendary. _He_ brought _us_ to the Lands of Always Winter. Dagardr Tree-Rider is the hero of the story. I was always a secondary character, meant only to bring the sword to the Night's Watch.

I always **despised** the Lai. The men of Castle Black know better than to sing it where I can hear. This song is a disgrace to the men who went after the sword. It is a disgrace to the Night's Watch and a disgrace to me."

"You really don't care if I make you Hand of the King, don't you?" Rhaegar asked in an off-hand manner. The Lord Commander merely blinked, taken by surprise, perhaps, by the laziness of his tone. "If you did, you wouldn't risk antagonizing me for the sake of a wildling."

"I owe him my life," Lannister explained, embarrassed.

"Most probably. You sound… passionate, when you talk about him. I took you from a cold man but you seem to have some fire in you." Rhaegar smiled genuinely for the first time in days. "Teach me the song."

"What song?"

"The Song of the Black Sword. You said it is more beautiful than the Lai. I'd like to sing it."

"It's in the Old Tongue."

"So you said. I guessed from your outburst that you speak the language?"

"I'm not a good singer."

"I'm sure you can sing well enough for me to learn it properly."

"I'm not a good teacher."

"I'm a very patient student."

"It's… it's a very long song, your Grace."

"Are you accepting to serve as my Hand?"

"Why, yes, but…"

"Then we will have time aplenty. The journey back to King's Landing is going to take us at least a month. You can even begin now. Unless you need time to remember the verses properly, I would like to hear them."

The kingsguards finally found them a quarter of an hour after Tywin Lannister started to sing, but the King couldn't even muster the usual annoyance. For the first time since he had ceased to believe in his own usefulness, something truly touched him, something as irrelevant as a song about a wildling sorcerer. Something that struck a chord like the prophecies of his youth, almost like if Dagardr Tree-Rider was an important piece of that puzzle.

His joy, however, proved much short lived, for their troop was welcome with pikes and bows in Winterfell, and distraught Catelyn Stark screaming at him: "Murderer! He murdered my son!"


	4. Chapter 3

Happy new year everyone! As I said previously, we'll now come back to our dear Tywin. We're slowly approaching King's Landing, but we're not here yet. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

* * *

><p>The King, his new Hand and Lord Eddard Stark left Winterfell in a gloomy atmosphere. Lord Stark's son was still comatose, but with his seemingly accidental fall (even if Lady Catelyn claimed it wasn't accidental) the tension had moved up a notch. Ser Barristan Selmy believed the King wasn't safe here anymore and Tywin was inclined to agree.<p>

His own departure hadn't been easy. Gerion was thrilled to go south, but Benjen Stark disapproved so strongly his gaze was more freezing than the Lands of Always Winter. He didn't even try to look happy when Tywin named him acting commander. "It's against the vows," Stark said. It wasn't, but Tywin didn't have to justify his choices anyway.

Tywin had to admit he was rather ill worried. He felt safe enough with the guards Lord Stark had agreed to lend him, and he guessed they were the closest he could get to his own men, but… they weren't his rangers. He didn't know their names and didn't know who fought well and who couldn't be trusted when alcohol or girls were involved. Furthermore, he trusted _none_ of those southron lord. Or lady. Or his own… family, he guessed? Queen Cersei looked vapid and mean, ser Jaime an insufferable thirty years old child, prince Joffrey was a sadistic little idiot and his siblings were too young to be of any use. If the very popular ser Rynald Reyne decided to murder him or Gerion to extinguish once and for all the Lannister's main line, none of them would move a finger. Well, none but Ned Stark, Tywin though, but Stark wouldn't see it coming, honorable as he was.

He slept badly. Tywin had had nightmares for years after Castamere, right until his first winter north of the Wall. He had almost frozen to death up there, but when spring came there was nothing left for him to fear. He had slept soundly ever since.

Until he went south again.

He tried to think about the red leaves and running water. He tried to recall the texture of Dagardr's bitches' fur. He tried counting the ravens, he tried the immensity of the Frost Fangs and the impossible blue of the sky up there. Even the green eerily lights of the farthest north did nothing against his anxieties. Sleep eluded him and left him far too many hours to think. Ser Rynald Reyne clamored that his father had left the Rock to speak with the king. Tywin remembered Llewyn Reyne. He remembered his face better than his own father's. He remembered his armor, his sword, his voice, the color of his hair. His name rang in his head until the silence became louder than thunder. _Llewyn Reyne. Llewyn Reyne. Llewyn Reyne_.

Sleeping was worse. Once he woke remembering the smell of Llewyn Reyne's father and had to pretend he had eaten something bad when his retching roused Gerion.

_I should kill him. I should kill Llewyn when we'll meet him. If I'm lucky I may even get his wretched son_.

Most of his days were spent teaching the Old Tongue to the King. Rhaegar was a fast, passionate learner who seemed to lit up when it came to poetry. While Tywin enjoyed their time together, he was always embarrassed to find that Rhaegar couldn't be bothered by anything else. He dismissed most of his lords when it came to ruling his Realm without even trying or feigned to listen for a few minutes before he sent them to Queen Cersei. Tywin would have liked to take those matters in hand, but couldn't since Rhaegar preferred to keep him by side as a bloody _glorified mummer_ rather than as an actual acting Hand.

And so day after day they approached Riverrun, where Sansa and Arya Stark would meet their grandfather for the first time, a detour meant as peace offering toward the Starks. Needless to say, Eddard Stark wasn't moved (though lady Sansa seemed delighted), while Queen Cersei lamented angrily. And day after day they came closer to Llewyn Reyne who was bound to meet them here.

Two days before Riverrun, Tywin was startled out of sleep by Gerion's drunken breath on his face.

"What you doing? Get off!"

"You were biting your arm," Gerion slurred. "Look!"

Tywin swore. Another bad habit that was coming back. He hoped he hadn't bitten deep enough to scar _again_.

"It's nothing. Bad dreams. Go to bed."

"No. You were biting your arm."

"Go. To. Bed. You are drunk."

"No. I know you used to bit your arm when we came to the Wall. You're not well."

"And you are drunk."

"That's not really important." Gerion crawled on his camp bed, making it crack as if it was going to break. Tywin tried to push him away but his legs were tangled in his blanket. "You're not well and I'm the only one out there who is going to care."

"You are preventing me from sleeping and threatening to destroy my bed," Tywin growled as coldly as he could. "I don't want people to care. Move."

"No. I'm sick of you waking me up with your nightmares. Tell me or I'll strangle Rynald Reyne tomorrow. I'll make it slow. Then I'll cut his head and give it to you."

"If you're going to stay there, please breathe the other way. The smell is disgusting. And you won't kill any Reyne tomorrow. I'm fine."

"It isn't true."

"Then pretend it is." _You know I'm never going to admit you're right anyway_. Then: _Shit, my wrist's bleeding_.

He waited until Gerion was fast asleep, then slipped out of bed. He tied a handkerchief around his wrist and climbed into his brother's bed to finish the night.

They reached Riverrun two days before Llewyn Reyne. Tywin's rooms were third best (after the King's and the Starks'), not very big but with a beautiful view on the godswoods. A finely spun set of three tapestries recounted the story of some Tully knight in the time of Aegon the Conqueror. It was quite pretty, but Tywin was frustrated by the nagging impression that in his youth he would have been able to relate the story. He was trying to remember his lordly skills and was slowly starting to put a sigil on every major family, a name on every function old and new, and to get a clear idea of who was running the kingdom and how.

He forced himself to be in the castle main's yard when the Reynes arrived. He was afraid but refused to admit it to anyone but himself, much less to _them_. The Reynes would find the last heir of the Lannisters standing proud before them. Let his presence remind them that they were nothing but thieves!

Llewyn Reyne rode in front of his escort. Shocked, Tywin noted that the guards of the Rock's armors hadn't changed at all since his youth. The men still wore red, the same red they wore when Tywin had led them twenty five years ago. _Thieves. You could at least have melted the old ones to make them your own_. The man himself was older than Tywin by two years, shorter but still in shape. He had his father's dark chestnut hair, barely streaked with grey and white, worn half long and free behind his shoulders. A cropped beard crowned his jaw, a bit redder than the rest, especially above the lips. He was aging well, Tywin painfully conceded, and looked handsome in his travelling clothes of reddened leather and wool.

The Lord of Casterly Rock dismounted. Since Rhaegar was officially sick (though Tywin suspected he was too "tired" to deal with the Reynes) and Hoster Tully was genially ill, Ser Edmure Tully offered the salt and bread. There was no tension between them to betray bad relations, nothing to imply Lord Reyne was ostracized by his peers. Tywin stayed still as stone and, he knew, as unreadable as the Queen beside him.

"I wonder," the woman whispered, low enough to be sure her uncle would be the only one to hear, "what is happening in your head right now. Do you wish him dead?"

_Will you please shut up, your Grace?_

"No."

"Really? In your place I would. However, in your place, I would have protected my family."

_In my place you would have done nothing but get raped by his men. You are no spearwife, Cersei Goldfyre_.

Of course he wished Reyne dead. That his niece needed to ask proved she wasn't nearly as bright as she thought she was. Fortunately (or unfortunately, Lannister wasn't sure), Llewyn Reyne was now climbing the steps toward the keep, toward _them_. Tywin fought the urge to flee, retch or do both while the Warden of the West politely greeted the queen. Stiff and pale as marble, Lannister fought to keep his body under his control. He wouldn't flinch. He _wouldn't_. He was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He owed to his men to look strong; any weakness would be a botch on their honor.

Ser Rynald was laughing somewhere in the background. The little shit must be so sure his father would make the king back down. Perhaps Tywin should kill him first. It was said nothing was worse for a father than to see his children die. _Revenge for my father. He was weak, but he did nothing to deserve the death of his two sons_. Tywin himself didn't count. He had been horrid as a child, ever unable to show his father anything but scorn.

Lord Llewyn turned to him.

_I will not flee. I don't fear you_.

"Lord Tywin."

Lannister didn't answer. Jaw clenched, he was sure he'd never be able to control his voice.

"I would like to confer with you in private when you are available."

_I would like to bit your head off with my bare teeth_. Tywin nodded. Gerion was away for the day, hunting with some younger knights he had met on the way. No one would accuse him of being his accomplice. Too bad Tywin couldn't get Rynald first, but if Llewyn was mad enough to be alone with him, so be it.

They climbed to Tywin's quarters and, while they had only three floors to walk through, the trip seemed longer than it would take to climb the Wall. The Lord Commander had never been comfy when people he didn't know walked behind him, but to have a Reyne behind his back was unnerving.

Tywin grabbed Dark Sister as soon as the door closed, lunged forward and, before Reyne could say a word, put the edge of the sword against his neck. With the razor-like sharpness of the blade, a single, small gesture from left to right and the throat would split.

"Wait," Reyne said, hand raised, palms open. "You can kill me later. I promise I'll let you. Just… just hear me now. We have to talk."

"I can kill you know," Lannister growled. He had killed many men since he left the West, but none would please him more. He still felt empty and scared, though, and his hand was trembling. "I've dreamed of killing you all for years."

"Well deserved, I guess," Reyne answered. His unnerving calm was unexpected. "Which is why I will let you kill me if you wish to do so, after you hear me out."

"I'm not interested."

"You have a son."

_What?_ The sword flinched and Reyne shuddered. A slim red line started to bleed, not enough to be threatening, but enough to be a testimony of Tywin trouble.

"You have a son, conceived the night before your departure from Lannisport. His mother was a blond haired prostitute named Mellyn, blue eyed. His name is Tywald."

He couldn't remember the name of the girl, but he did remember her face: she was the first and only girl he had had in his whole life.

"How can you know he is mine?"

"The girl was a virgin when you had her. Her madam had charged extra money for that, she said, and had hoped to charge extras again if the girl stayed untouched for your return. When my army reached the Rock she pretended to sell me the girl, believing I would reward her for your child. I hid her and the boy until my father died. He looks so much like you, no one would deny he's your son."

Tywin stepped back, sword still unsheathed. Reyne was lying. He could only be lying.

"He wants to meet you. If you want to meet him." The Lord's eyes turned to pleading. "Please. I know many men are indifferent to their bastard, but Tywald… he deserves to know his father. He's a wonderful lad."

"You won't make me believe you came here sorely to make me meet my bastard, sir. Your son betrayed your intend weeks ago."

"What intend?" Llewyn shook his head. "My son is an idiot. Worse, he is a cruel idiot. True, Rynald wrote to me. He claims your nomination is a plot hatched by Queen Joanna to destroy our family and wants me to pressure the king into naming _him_ his Hand. As I said, my son is an idiot. I think Queen Joanna hoped no one would be named Hand of the King. She is the Queen Regent and the Protector of the Realm, I really can't imagine her bringing south some forgotten cousin who doesn't owe her anything."

He sighed.

"You are right, though. I wasn't here only to arrange a meeting between you and Tywald. I came to apologize for… for what was done twenty-five years ago. I know what my father did to you. It is unforgivable."

Tywin felt as if the Wall had fallen on him. Ice crept from his bowels to his chest, his legs lost all strength and his sword almost fell from his numb fingers. For one moment he felt like he was in Roger Reyne's dark cell again, his smell overwhelming; then it passed and all that was left was rage.

"You dare to ask for my forgiveness? After what your family did to mine?"

Again, Llewyn shook his head.

"No. No I don't. When we rebelled, my father told me you were a tyrant. Your father had failed his vassals in every way and you, his son, were a sadistic brute just waiting to slaughter every single lord who dared to speak up. I believed what we did was just, that we were fighting to restore a strong power in the Westerlands. I never thought it would come to this. I never believed my father would let his men rape your sister, that he would kill children, or that he would treat you with such… dishonor as he did." He let out a sharp, dry laugh. "But I saw. Too late, but I saw who he was. I kept your brother Gerion with me at all times when I discovered how badly he had treated you. I never allowed him to have your brother, nor your son. But I don't ask for your forgiveness. Only the Gods can forgive the Reynes for their crimes, and even they will never erase the stain of our conquest of the Rock."

"I cannot forgive you," Tywin heard himself say.

He couldn't bear this conversation. He felt like drowning.

"I know." Llewyn Reyne returned, softly, sadly. "But I had to tell you… I had to apologize." He knelt, head down. "I beg you, and the Gods, to believe me. I am _sorry_."

"Go." He couldn't. He just. Couldn't. "Go away."

He heard him leave.

Then he crumbled in a corner, sank his teeth in his wrist and started to cry.


End file.
